There is a picture of Tony Conigliaro, his eye grotesquely swollen and bruised shortly after being hit by a Jack Hamilton fastball a few weeks earlier. This was just before the mandatory use of batting helmets. He had a miraculous comeback but the damage to his sight made it impossible to go on. After yet another comeback as a Red Sox announcer, he died of a heart attack at 45. If there was ever a case for a baseball tragic opera, it would have to be the tale of Tony C Set against the fading Fenway sun, years since the last pennant had been won Long since the Bambino had been bought, Boston found the hero it had sought Tony, our hearts beat as one. Tony, you're Boston's chosen son. In August he was only 22, and there was nothing that he couldn't do. That ba*tard Hamilton threw at his head. Tony dropped -- the crowd feared he was dead. Tony, our hearts bleed as one. Tony, what has that pitcher done? But miracle of miracles on Lansdowne Street. A comeback and a home run swing returning, oh so sweet! But it was never meant to be --Tony cried "I cannot see!" His eyes they fade, the fans they cried, and at 44 Tony died Tony, our hearts they still ring true. Tony, we still remember you. Tony, our hearts they beat as one. Tony, you're Boston's chosen son